


Even As

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Poor Obi-Wan, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: The duel on Mustafar ends differently. Obi-Wan is taken prisoner by the Sith.





	1. Chapter 1

“And I forgive you even  
As you choke me that way.” -sufjan stevens 

—

 

There used to be good things. A bed in the Temple, sunlight reflecting on water, people he knew and friends he loved. The memories were all he had. He clung to them, they saved him, when the Darkness came. 

Sometimes he didn’t want to remember what was good. It made the bad that much worse. In those moments, the smell of grass or taste of warm bread seemed far away, another lifetime, locked in a place he could never go again.

Because there was only _this_ place and the Light was becoming a distant point in his mind’s fading horizon. 

There used to be good things. When he was a child, and the Universe seemed much bigger, or smaller, and he was oblivious to the true depths of cruelty. He could almost sink into that innocent past, wrap himself in the safety of naïveté, of not knowing. Except he always knew now. 

_The_ y made him know, in ways he never imagined, although he was a seasoned Jedi and General and had endured his share of suffering. He longed for that kind of uncomplicated pain. It would be a relief, compared to what they did to him—what they did—

He thought of his Master, walking beside him in the Gardens and the cool breeze lifting the strands of hair around his bearded face, laughing—

—they laughed, laughed when he finally screamed—

And his Master’s hair was brown, without a streak of grey, because they were both young, and the future was an unknowable path of possibilities ahead of them, and the Force beat in his blood and hope soared in his heart. 

There used to be a very good thing, a sacred thing, taken from him and twisted and reshaped into nightmare, and that thing used to be Anakin Skywalker.

Now it was Darth Vader. 

Vader wore Anakin’s face, but it was a gruesome, taunting mask. Only a mask, because the eyes were wrong, Vader’s eyes staring through the holes in the mask, eyes that burned yellow like the horned beast on Naboo, that killed—

No. 

He knew they had stuck him with a needle, and his thoughts were too loose and emotional now. He could not...what was the word... _neutralize_ the drug inside him, the collar around his neck made it impossible. The collar was like Vader’s mechanical hand, its grip cold and tight, strangling him, as he had been strangled on Mustafar—

No.

He would return to the good things, though they looked smeared now, and the drug stuffed his ears and he heard crackling static, felt vibrations along his teeth and fingertips. When he was a new Padawan he had not been allowed to attend a festival thrown by their hosts on...on...the planet’s name escaped him 

he would never escape

so he waited in the hotel room and his Master

Qui-Gon Qui-Gon Qui-Gon good good good good

came in when he was almost asleep and touched his forehead in a soft way and pulled a bundle from his tunics, unwrapping the cloth napkin to reveal an iced pastry with red fruit in the center, and he sat up to take a bite, and the taste 

blood vomit awful salty acrid taste

was sweet and bright, and his Master smiled at him and he would be content forever if he could only stay there, where he was safe and the lights were low and he could move his arms and when he fell asleep his Master would take off his belt and boots

they took those things and more more more too much

but those days were dead, his Master was dead, and if the Force still existed outside this place, he prayed it would let him die too, at last.

—


	2. Chapter 2

—

He woke with a clear, albeit sore, head. This drug, whatever it was, left less of a residual film than others. No nausea or hallucinations. In fact, he would be in rather decent shape, if not for his arms. His wrists were always cuffed above his head, chaining him to the wall, and the position was not...ideal for his joints. 

Or his mood.

He shifted, crossing his legs, in obscene parody of the classic meditation pose. Without the Force, it was challenging to find his center, to chase off the morbid, wandering shadows and recollections best left unexamined. He was still sane, as far as he knew, although he had given up any effort to keep track of the days or months. His beard was long, and itched like mad, and he could feel the wet curl of hair halfway down his neck. It was one thing to be chained like an animal, it was quite another to be scraggly and unkempt. At random he was allowed a pass beneath the sonics, frigid water blasted at his naked body, but he was never given privacy even then, and so he was learning—trying to learn—to accept his natural aromas. 

He rarely felt the gnaw of hunger in his gut anymore. When he was offered food, it was only presented from Sidious’s fingers, and he couldn’t, couldn’t, give the bleached and scarred ghoul the satisfaction. He would starve first. 

Except Ana—-Vader would not stand for that. Vader came to him alone, a sweep of black cape, a hollow pounding of boots, and forced gruel and ration bars on him, pinched his nose closed until he had no choice but to open his mouth, and the food was shoved in until moisture leaked from the corners of his eyes and he gagged. 

He hypothesized that some of the drugs were used to subdue him in order to pump the necessary nutrients through his system. Occasionally he woke to find tiny spots of blood at the crux of his arms. 

He was not chained, at first. It was only when he bit a damned clone that the heavy cuffs appeared, and he fought then, snarling and wrenching away from the hands that restrained him. He left long scratches across the old Sith’s arms. Later, Sidious dragged his yellow, cracked nails down his flesh, in places he could not think about.

They would torture him, they would leave him alone in the cell for days with only mop water to sate his thirst, they would taunt him and beat him.

But they would not let him die. He had something they wanted. At least, they _thought_ he did.

\---

Vader visited him as he dozed against one of his arms. He found he could not quite control his bouts of unconsciousness, which was both frustrating and inconvenient. 

The man that had once been his best friend crouched before him, and wiped the drool from his chin with a calloused thumb. The gesture nearly reminded him of his Master, but the gentleness was barbed with manipulation, and he would not be fooled. 

“You don’t belong here,” Vader murmured, in that casual, Outer Rim accent he had never completely shed. He wore black leather tunics, and an unfamiliar saber hung from his waist. His hair was combed to the side, fringe only partially concealing the puckered skin at his temple. He didn’t remember Anakin’s hair being so dark. 

But then, the edges of his periphery were a bit dim, ever since one of the clones knocked his head against the duracrete floor. He sat straighter, evading the touch. “I quite agree. Will you be arranging for my immediate release, then?”

Vader snorted. A glint of amusement sparked somewhere in his bloodshot eyes. This used to be their shared language, sarcasm and pot shots, an intimacy veiled in humor. “You know I can’t do that.”

“No,” he said sharply, between his stretched arms, “I suppose you can’t.” 

Vader stared at him. His jaw was clenched, cheekbones pulled taut. 

He did not need the Force to sense the simmering rage. He would not shrink away from it. He would not be frightened by this….creature who wore Anakin Skywalker’s corpse. He lifted his chin and stared back, waiting.

“You have to start _eating_ ,” Vader ground out between his teeth, “You look like—-“

“Death?” He finished for the Sith, with a bitter smile. “Good. It’s all I want. Skewer me with your pretty red blade, Darth.”

“You listen to me,” Vader snarled, grabbing the bearded chin between the fingers of his human hand, “You aren’t going anywhere. Not out of this cell, or this ship, or out of my sight.” Vader’s lips trembled with barely contained emotion. “I already lost her. I _won’t_ lose you. I can’t.”

He laughed in the face of the threats, in Vader’s face. “You can’t lose me. You don’t have me. Not even your wise and all-powerful Master has me, when he does what he does. Am I in your sight then?” He took a steadying breath, “Do you see me in those moments, Darth?”

The accusation hung in the stagnant air of the dank, grey cell. 

Vader captured his chin again, but did not squeeze, merely held it against his palm. His voice was a whisper, “I’ve seen everything. And I _will_ kill him. For her, and for you.” His eyes were all blue, nearly blue, melting to scarlet, irises dripping yellow. Purity that, it turns out, could not stand against temptation or corruption. “It’s just not time yet. You have to trust me.”

“Oh, yes,” Caustic laughter bubbled up from his chest. He would not be hysterical. “The Sith are legendary for their trustworthiness. I shall remember that the next time you watch me get flogged by a clone...or…”

He could not say it. The other thing that was done to him. It was too _uncivilized._

Vader was closer now, his rapid breaths hot against the prisoner’s face. “I have a plan.”

The words broke his heart, or ground to dust the remaining shards of his heart. They reminded him of Anakin Skywalker, in the midst of another seemingly doomed mission, announcing his half-baked, ridiculous, completely ingenious idea to get out of their predicament. It was irritating that he still felt, deeply, the sorrow and regret. Without the Force, he was as captive to his own feelings as he was to his jailers. He licked his lips. “And what, pray tell, is your...plan?” His voice cracked. He hated when it did that.

Vader’s gaze faltered. “See, that’s the problem.” He looked too much like Anakin, young and chagrined. “I can’t really tell you.”

He snorted. “Good plan.”

The fingers on his chin drew his head forward. “You don’t get it, Obi-Wan. He can hear...everything.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, struggling against Vader’s grip.

But Vader held tighter, bringing his mechanical hand up to brace an immobile shoulder. “You’re the one who makes this all so hard.”

“I apologize, Darth. Should I readily submit to violence and indignity?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He leaned forward, as far as he could in the chains, nearly touching Vader’s nose against his own. “Isn’t it your honored title? You earned it, after all. By murdering innocents, friends, _children_. Strangling your pregnant wife—“

“Shut up!” Vader roared, shoving him away and standing. “This is YOUR fault!”

He was always to blame, whenever Anakin Skywalker was backed into a corner, since Anakin was a boy. “I don’t doubt it. It _is_ my fault, the way a student’s failures are always the teacher’s. So, what are you waiting for?”

Vader lifted his hands to his hips. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ that if I am truly responsible for the flood of death around us, I think the punishment should fit the crime.”

Vader quirked his lips with annoyance. “I’m not killing you. Don’t talk like that.”

He did not want to die. There was too much to be done, once he was free of these chains and this stinking place. And yet, with the Force held away from him, in the darkest chasms in his mind, it was all he wanted. “I won’t be part of whatever harebrained plan you’ve concocted. When it falls through, and your Master finds out, _I’ll_ be the one who suffers.”

Clammy touches, teeth grazing his face—

Vader was hunkered down in front of him again, combing the damp hair back from his former mentor’s forehead. “I can’t tell you the details. You don’t have any shielding, Obi-Wan. He reads your mind.”

Inhale, exhale. “I am aware,” he said carefully. The collar was a key, unlocking the vault to his private thoughts. His innermost self was open and unprotected. Like the rest of him. Sidious raided it all. “So don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It _does_ matter,” Vader surged, pulling the hair between his fingers, “You matter to me, Obi-Wan.”

He glanced up at his painfully outstretched arms, then down at his wasted, half-bare body. “You have a funny way of showing it, Darth.”

“Shut up. You know you wouldn’t have to be in this kriffing cell if you just told him what he wants to know.”

He released a heavy breath. “If he can read my mind, shouldn’t _he_ already know what I apparently know?”

Vader shook his head, chuckling mirthlessly. “You drive me crazy and you know what? You drive him crazy, too. Even with that collar on, you’re still hiding something.”

Crazy, yes. He pushed everyone to madness, most of all himself. “Take the collar off and I’ll tell you.”

Vader laughed again. “Yeah right. I’m not stupid, Obi-Wan.”

“No,” he concurred, “never stupid. Just naive. And cruel.” 

“I could have left you to the lava on Mustafar, you know.”

“Oh, I _know_. I dream about it.” He did, longingly. In the dream Vader doesn’t stop choking him, and he dies on that hill of soot and burning rock, and the Force takes him then, and he joins the immortal energy of thousands of slain Jedi. His Master is there too, and the smoking hole is gone from his chest, because in the Force there is no pain, no death—

“Don’t say that. I’ve lost enough. I won’t lose you too.” Vader weaves between monster and child, enforcer and slave boy. 

“What you lost was given away. You gave your loyalty to him. You gave _me_ to him.”

Sidious was singular and unflinching in his depravities. He did not battle the remains of an old conscience, as Vader did. He was Darkness. Only Darkness.

Vader visibly struggled against the blow. So he _had_ seen the worst of it. “I was confused. I—I didn’t know he would do...those things…to you. He said you were bait to lure in Yoda. He promised not to kill you.” A grapple for consolation, “I made him promise, Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you,” He said flatly.

“He would stop if you’d just tell him where the troll is,” Vader reasoned, as if betrayal were a perfectly reasonable solution, but for a Sith, he supposed it was. “I don’t know why you’re protecting him. He’s never come for you. Just disappeared to save his own scrawny butt.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he sighed. Even now, Vader refused to accept the dangers of attachment. “We serve a greater good. The individual must come last. He will not rescue me. And I don’t know where he is. We didn’t exactly have time to _chat_ before seeking out two Sith Lords.”

“He doesn’t believe you, Obi-Wan,” Vader said, sounding nearly desperate. He grasped both shoulders. “He won’t relent until you tell him.”

A Sith did not beg, but Vader was close. He knew Vader did not laugh while Sidious and the clones took pleasure in his humiliations. Vader did not strike him, or insult him. He wished he would. 

“I will not relent. I have nothing to tell, nothing to give up that hasn’t already been taken. So let him do his worst, until he kills me. Then that’s one less Jedi left in the galaxy, and that’s what you _want_ , isn’t it, Darth Vader?”

This time, Vader did strike him, but even that was a mercy, and the cell faded to black.

—


	3. Chapter 3

—

He was trying to keep up, but his boots were just a little too big, and his feet slid around inside, although he had doubled up on socks when he dressed that morning. His Master just took such long strides. He wondered sometimes what it would be like to be so tall, to see the tops of everything, to never be intimidated. 

_You can see the tops of everything too, young one._

The man always knew what he was thinking. _No, I can’t, Master. Bruck Chun calls me a pipsqueak._

Soft ribbons of laughter. _Bruck Chun calls you names to deflect his own insecurities._

_So I’m not a pipsqueak?_

More laughter, real and resonant in the Force. _No, you certainly_ are. _For the moment, Padawan. Even Jedi can only grow so fast. Time enough, you will be taller, and older, and know far too much._

_I predict I’ll never be as tall as you, Master._

_Probably not. But if there is somewhere you need to reach, something you need to see, you will find a way. And you won’t have to worry about hitting your head on low door frames._

Something _did_ hit his head, and all the warmth and good leaked away, and he cracked open his eyes to see Jango Fett’s face. Another clone, this one with heavy marks across his cheek and nose. Battle scars, from before. 

_Before_. That was where he wanted to go, before he knew _too much._

It took him a second to remember that Vader had knocked him out. He ran his tongue along his teeth and tasted the familiar, copper tang of dried blood. “What?” He croaked.

He supposed he should have phrased the question more politely, in an agreeable tone, because Not-Jango responded by slamming the back of his head against the wall. 

“You were always a snotty little shik, even for a Jedi.” The clone grumbled. “His Excellency will be seeking your audience soon.”

But his mind was going away from… _that_ , finding again those days lit in golden simplicity. “Too short.” He muttered, from the place where his Master looked down at him with kind blue eyes. 

The clone was walking to the door of the cell. “Don’t know what he thinks he’s gonna get outta you, kriffing brain dead Jedi scum.”

He drifted there, in warm fragments of a gentler past. His Master brought him the pastry and it was the best thing he had ever eaten, because it was a secret between them, a smuggled indulgence, sweeter because his Master had thought of him, marooned by his own youth in the boring hotel, knew he would like the kavasa fruit jam in the center, the bright red—

Red red red red red blood blood fire death not even the younglings why the younglings—

An endless, crashing wave of blood and agony and he was just debris carried along the onslaught, one cry in the shrieking cacophony of an eternal, bone-deep torment—

“Stop screaming, you fool.”

His guts would fall out, he would die, Master I will die—

Electric fingers clutched his wrists. Convulsions raced up his arms, jolting him from the turgid depths of nightmare, and his eyes flew open. 

Doom. 

Sidious’s sagging white face, hooded in shadow. The curdled voice came from everywhere, rasping and groaning, clustered whispers of a thousand Sith. 

He heard the funeral dirge of all that had been good, in that voice. An innocence he didn’t know he had, until—

“Look at you,” Sidious grinned, baring rotted teeth. “The last hope for the vaunted Jedi Order, and so quickly you’ve been reduced to...this.”

This. _This._

A hoarse cackle, a cough. The dark creature that had been Palpatine was a Sith Lord in possession of a shuddering amount of power, but he was also human, and his body was disfigured, still ailing from Master Windu’s efforts to defeat him.

Master Windu. Mace. Gone, out of reach, safe in the Force where he himself could not go, or even touch. His chest burned and his stomach lurched. The collar was tighter, someone must have tightened it—

Sidious dragged a blistered finger, lightly, back and forth across the band. “ _Ahh_ , that’s what you want, isn’t it? The Force. The Light, which has already forsaken you.”

No. Never. The Light was with him, in remembered laughter, in the way he could almost feel his Master’s hand on his shoulder. Chains could be broken. If not the ones clamped around his flesh, then the bonds yoking him to life. The Light would be there for him, when he was free. 

Sweat ran into his eyes. It stung. He would not look away. “The Darkness will forsake you.”

A fingernail found the cleft in his chin, and pressed there, until hot blood dribbled into his overgrown beard. “I thought you were lauded as the _Negotiator_. Your well of clever comebacks seems to have run dry.”

And the Sith sucked the blood from his pruny finger.

He did not react. “Forgive me. I believe I may have a migraine. People keep bashing me in the head.” He cocked an eyebrow, like he would have back then, when he was the silver-tongued General. “Do you think you could do something about that?”

“If it had been up to me,” Sidious drawled, spreading the blood across his captive’s mouth, “you wouldn’t have a head by now. I have never been particularly enamored of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He snorted at the dark irony. “You could have fooled me. And the feeling is mutual.”

He had not trusted Palpatine. But he repeatedly ignored the coiling dread inside him, explained it away because he was the Chancellor, because he held so much sway with the Council. Most of all, because Palpatine was Anakin’s friend, and he didn’t want to test the limits of his often strained relationship with his former Padawan.

Vader was right. He was to blame. So much willful blindness, about the Sith, and Anakin’s marriage, the moments of intense conflict he glimpsed in the young man. Yet he had not been shot down. He continued to live, he, with the heaviest guilt. He drew breath while Mace and Depa and Aayla and Plo and everyone was dead. He lived even through Mustafar, and the uncounted atrocities endured since he was brought to the cell.

Was this his punishment, to live?

“I wanted to kill you during the celebration on Naboo. Standing there, while the idiot Gungans danced and the streamers waved in the sky. The hatred was overwhelming and...delicious. Of course I could have easily arranged for your death. After all, there has never been a shortage of those who would delight in murdering a Jedi.” His smile stretched into a hideous, jagged rictus across his face. “But you know that now, don’t you?”

His arms were intolerably numb. He tolerated it. “So why didn’t you kill me?”

“I watched you with the boy. He was like a supernova, beside your weak light. You still had that pathetic little braid tied off by your dead Master. The Jedi handed their Chosen One to an untested child. It was too perfect. You did all my work for me.” Sidious laughed. He rubbed the bloody bottom lip, his breath sour and warm and too close. “Beautifully. Better than I could have done myself. He slaughtered a _village_ and you didn’t suspect a thing, because you couldn’t bear the thought that your insipid Master was wrong and you wasted your silly life training a monster.”

A monster. Yes, Vader was a monster. He had murdered his own brethren, left the slain bodies of children on the Temple floor. He was a monster, too, for loving Anakin even now, for the way his heart keened in grief and denial. His love was a prison worse than the cell, with its skittering rodents and the way his screams echoed off the stained walls. It was his legacy, his failure. 

A void was growing inside him, a roaring silence in the absence of the Force. 

He was a monster, because without the Force he was just a man drowning in his own pain and need. He was not devising a way to break out of...wherever this was. He had no visions for the future. He was not the person he was _before._

Sidious’ jaundiced eyes were scanning his face. Other eyes, peering from sinister catacombs, stared into his mind. Though cut off from the Force, he could feel the invasion, another violation. 

Unfortunately for the Sith, there wasn’t much to see. Even his more lucid thoughts wandered. And he was not the keeper of secrets they suspected he was.

“Useless,” Sidious hissed. He stood and turned in disgust, waving one grey hand behind him.

Abruptly, the shackles opened, and without their agonizing support he toppled onto the floor. His arms _were_ useless. He could not take enough weight on them to turn himself over, let alone sit up. So he lay with his cheek against the cold duracrete, gasping in pained relief. 

He watched the boots circle him, the black robes sweeping against his skin. 

“Tyranus, Dooku, the dead old fool, urged me to Turn you. He said you had more potential, a laughable notion, but Dooku could never accept Anakin’s lack of breeding. You were his Padawan’s Padawan, after all; one blind spot of many for the ill-fated Count.” Sidious sighed. “But he served his purpose, in the end. Vader decapitated him.”

A nonchalant revelation, but he reeled, bile at the back of his throat. 

Decapitated—

“I told Anakin to leave you behind then. I knew in that moment he was mine. But he refused, dragging you along, the burden that he would not slough off to ascend to his true destiny.”

Anakin always saved him. He had first saved him on Naboo, all those years ago, but he realized it too late. Now Anakin was dead, and there were things he could never tell him, would not tell Vader. 

“And then he had the chance to kill you on Mustafar. Instead, Vader carried you away from the flames. I _ordered_ him to execute you. He swore he would do anything, if only I let _you_ live.” Sidious kicked him in the side as he continued his slow, circular walk. “I despaired that Vader was not truly my apprentice. He clings to you, this final shard of his lesser existence.”

Vader urging him to eat, imploring him to give up information to Sidious. But he also allowed his new Master to—

Anakin Skywalker would have saved him from that. Anakin Skywalker would have died saving him from that. Vader lacked that courage. And heart. 

No one would save him. He knew he was nearing the end. Sidious or one of the clones would kill him, out of rage, or boredom, or to push Vader further into the Dark Side’s embrace. He was already dead, died on Utapau when he fell into the water. He was still there. Perhaps he would always be there, floating in the hopeless murk.

“Kill me then,” he said, “if I’m such an obstacle to your lofty plans. I have nothing you want, and your monologues are tiresome and uninspired. I’ve heard more compelling soliloquies from a bantha with digestive issues.”

An invisible pressure flipped him onto his back. The Force. It was only used against him now. 

“On the contrary, I have come to realize Vader’s weakness for you is the key to my plans. He knows I will not permit him to keep you here forever. I know, too, that he wants to overthrow me. As Tyranus, and Maul before him.” Sidious paused, as if savoring the flavor of his own putrid words. “I can feel the heat of his hatred. It simmers beneath his skin. The Darkness thrives in it. He massacred your Temple and commits slaughter at my whim, but seeing you in pain, _humiliated_ and _used_ , enrages him.”

He remembered nearly dying before, and Anakin was eleven and

grips his hand so tightly 

and the boy sobs into his tunic, not like a Jedi, his heart is too scarred and tender, he was too old to be trained no matter what Qui-Gon said, Anakin can’t _let go_

_let go padawan you must let go of what you fear losing_

but the Force is a maelstrom of fury and terror and love, and Anakin is the storm’s center, always

_no I won’t I won’t go without you master you’re going to be okay and I’ll find out who did this and I’ll show them what happens to sleemos who try to hurt you_

the storm is inside him too, because Anakin will not be denied and he finds his way through locked doors and locked minds and locked hearts, and when he is dying the storm is unbearable, bright lightning 

_vengeance is a poison anakin you will go on_

_no no no_

_anakin please you must listen to me_

_I can’t master you’re my best friend you’re more my best friend than even kittster was and if you die then it’ll be like I’m dead too because I love you_

he is dying and so it should be forgivable that he cannot, does not say he loves Anakin, it is not the Jedi way besides, but the real reason he does not say it is because the storm frightens him

and that is not forgivable

he never forgives himself for his silence—

He is silent. 

Sidious loomed above him, a warped specter haloed in the cell’s eerie incandescence. “He detests me,” the Sith whispered. “As it must be. I will break him, as it must be. By breaking you.”

He was broken. Not a piece of him was intact. He broke Anakin by never saying what his apprentice needed to hear. Genocide had broken him. Sidious had broken him, again and again and again.

There was a time when they were unbreakable, together. He and Anakin, the Negotiator and the Hero Without Fear, Master and Padawan, bound by their shared victories and tragedies. 

A mouth was on his mouth. 

He did not fight. He knew the Sith enjoyed when he struggled. Instead he floated to the good things, and there he saw the Temple, his Master’s clear blue eyes—

A hand was around his throat.

Decapitated. Dooku’s black eyes widened in the ether. 

Sidious laughed into his mouth. “I can feel more than anger from Vader,” fingernails crawled along his jaw, “I feel his _jealousy_.”

He did not understand. He did not want to understand. There were still good, clean things somewhere and he would go there, he would just go there…

away away away

“He wants you like this,” the kisses were gentler, a hand carded softly through his hair, “wants to know how you taste…”

The grotesque imitation of intimacy turned his stomach. He tried to close his mouth but a tongue darted between his lips.

“That is why I needed to have you first. So I could tell him you taste like kavasa fruit—“

Kavasa, macerated in the pastry’s center. His Master, his good and private sanctuary, and this—this _demon_ taunted him with the things that soothed him, this kriffing soulless Sith beast had taken everything and now Sidious was plundering those pure memories, putting his filthy hands where they didn’t belong in his head, in other places no one had ever touched. 

The perfect, gleaming red kavasa. 

Qui-Gon. Anakin.

The Force could not succor him in his rage. He screamed into the void, where Obi-Wan Kenobi used to be, he screamed and screamed, he would kill Palpatine-Sidious-pile-of-steaming-Sith-shavit he would tear into his chest and pull out the stinking pit of a heart and macerate it for Qui-Gon and Anakin and the younglings left to die he would do it for them and it didn’t matter what happened to him because this would be worth it and he was a failure anyway if Qui-Gon had lived he would not recognize what he had become, would not love him

if he could go back he would say 

_I love you Master I love you I love you I love you Anakin_

but he never said it in time, he was always too late, except now, _now_ he would crush the Sith’s heart and eat the raw red pulp of it

a red haze

and _he_ would lick the trail of blood from his fingers 

disgusting murderous perverted evil nightmare—

He bit down on the tongue twisting in his mouth. 

Sidious withdrew. A mixture of their blood was smeared across his pale, thin lips. 

He kicked with his bare feet, trying to sweep Sidious’ legs out from under him, waiting for the eruption of blue fire, it would be enough to kill him but he kicked while he could, spitting the bitter blood from the Sith’s tongue out of the corner of his mouth, bracing himself on a trembling elbow. 

Then Sidious was on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head, jarring the tortured muscles in his arms. But he was beyond pain, beyond fear. 

“You must have known you would be mine eventually, _Master Kenobi_. My apprentice killed your ridiculous Master. I orchestrated the war in which you lost half your soul and half your friends. Now your Temple has been razed, the Jedi extinguished by your own _Padawan_ , and he calls _me_ Master, kneels before me in deference, will be remade into the most powerful Sith Lord in history.” Sidious smiled, his eyes sick yellow lamplights. “The path of your life has been carved by me. I know your every thought. I know your body, completely. Yes, Vader will try to overthrow me, but he will _fail_ , he will accept his place at my side, and I will see to it that you are witness to everything. Why kill you when there is a fate far worse than death?”

He writhed under the weight of the Sith. no no no no no 

Sidious laughed at his feeble resistance. “What would Qui-Gon Jinn think of you, I wonder? _This_ is what has become of his Chosen One, under your tutelage. You weep, even now, for Jinn, where you think no one can see you. _I can see you._ You have never stopped weeping for him, in your heart that should be galvanized against, what do the Jedi call it, _attachment_. But he was lucky that his incompetence against Maul saved him from all that was to come. If he had the choice, he would still choose a Sith blade through his chest.”

He had felt his Master’s pain, wanted nothing more than to take his place… 

“But perhaps, seeing what you’ve become, he would want you just as Vader wants you. Would he hold you down like this and—“

no not his Master not Qui-Gon good good good 

“Taste your kavasa fruit? I would wager he wanted to taste it back then, in that hotel room, when you were so young and pure and trusting…”

“No.” no no no no no never Qui-Gon never like that you wretched Sith scum 

“You worshipped him. Those parts that are mine now must have _ached_ for him…”

no no stop shut up Qui-Gon unwrapped the pastry and that’s when he knew his Master cared for him and they would get past Melida/Daan and New Apsolon and all the false starts he would be the apprentice Qui-Gon deserved because their partnership was destined by the Force itself just good just good

“You worshipped him but he knew the boy was more talented and _that_ is when you fell. You never got back up after that. You hated Anakin for taking what was yours, you hated yourself for letting your Master die, for being the consolation prize to a slave boy.”

no I never hated Anakin never I taught him everything I know I gave him everything I had 

“Listen to you, so earnestly denying the truth. I can hear you, Obi-Wan. The _real_ you. You may have taught Anakin everything you knew, but you knew jealousy, you knew resentment, you knew _hatred_. When he needed you, you held yourself apart, and so he came to me. I was his confidant, to whom he told his worst secrets.”

“You deceived him,” he rasped. 

“So did you,” Sidious leaned closer, whispering in his ear, tracing the lobe with a bleeding tongue. “You pretended to be the devoted instructor, the darling of the Council, the perfect Jedi, but underneath you were none of those things. You have always carried that shadow in your heart...your own worst secret: because you loved your Master, you hated your Padawan.”

no no no no no no 

“You hated him for taking what was yours. You worked so hard to earn your Master’s affections…”

no it wasn’t like that 

“...and in one moment, Anakin claimed your Master, claimed the rest of your life.” Sidious’ tone softened in faux commiseration, “Who could blame you? You were very young yourself, after all. We both know you weren’t ready. That’s why you were angry with your Master, wasn’t it? For casting you aside before completing your training?”

_I take Anakin as my Padawan Learner._

the words had hit from out of nowhere a physical pain in his chest he didn’t breathe and then breathed too hard trying to appear composed but he looked at Qui-Gon and 

he’s not looking at Qui-Gon at all not the Master he knew this was not right this was not _fair_ he had known the boy for a few days and already that meant more to him than over a decade of partnership he had not gained Qui-Gon’s trust until he offered up his own life on Bandomeer that’s what it took to get Qui-Gon to accept him he had to nearly blow himself up and Qui-Gon had just told him on the balcony before the Council session that he still had much to learn oh but not from Qui-Gon because something more pressing more important the Chosen One himself had come along and now he was just the inconvenient thing in the way the old responsibility to be shed to make room for Anakin Skywalker

He shook his head, trying to pull back from the lying mouth on his face, pull himself out of the spiraling thoughts. “He only did what he had to do. The Council forced him into drastic action.”

“Ahhh,” Sidious laughed, “So that makes it alright. You never looked upon the boy with irritation or resentment? You did not seek out a place aboard the starship after, the pain having built inside you until...”

he could barely see through the blurring veil of tears and he hunched in the cramped closet of their sleeping quarters on the ship and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and cried as he had not cried since he was a rejected initiate but that’s what he would always be wasn’t it second choice taken out of pity and now finally discarded no it wasn’t like that he was not a child he would not react in such a juvenile emotional way peace there is no attachment there is no anger 

there is no Padawan

there is no Master

there is no self

there is the Force yes the Force he would do as he must as his Master did as he must and follow the man to Naboo and he would honor the commitment he made all those years ago because it didn’t matter if his Master loved him because he loved his Master and would still die for him 

“...it consumed you? Perhaps if you had not been so unbalanced you would have been able to defeat my apprentice sooner, and save your Master, hmm?” The mockery of a lover’s sigh against his beard, “How different everything might have been. You know Qui-Gon Jinn would have been the better Master for Anakin. He believed in Anakin. For you it was an obligation. You were trapped by the promise you never should have made. It never should have been asked of you.”

_it’s too late it’s_

_Obi-Wan_

_promise me_

“You would have promised him anything as he was dying. Because you were a dutiful apprentice, weren’t you?” Fingers in the deepest layers of his mind, probing, touching everything, “It is understandable that you wanted a few of his last words to address you. He was _your_ Master.” Fingers searching his body, as if to find something different than what they found all the times before.

He could not bear it. He had come to terms years ago with his selfish behavior during the Naboo mission. He had never, never told anyone about those thoughts, unworthy of a Jedi, petty and puerile. He had concealed his flaws beneath a fast wit and a brown robe, and hoped no one could see.

That it was _this_ beast who saw—

“We all deserve our secrets, don’t we? Those little unbecoming thoughts we bury somewhere safe, those thoughts that if discovered, would change the way others look at us. What would the Council think, Master Kenobi?” Sidious chuckled, “But I don’t suppose we’ll ever know the answer to _that_. Perhaps I should call Vader in here, and let him see who you are, what you truly feel, when everything else is stripped away. If he saw inside your tortured mind, I think he would be surprised. I think he would kill you for it.” Sidious smiled, “And I think you would welcome the death blow.”

penance

yes 

death

yes

“No,” he whispered, “He won’t kill me. He won’t. You’ll have to do it yourself.”

Sidious’ blood-stained mouth prevented him from saying more. Smothering suction. The wounded tongue ran along the inside of his cheek. He knew it was a demented gesture of dominance.

 _bite again_ it said see what happens to you

or to someone else in your stead 

“I will have all of you, every memory, every inch of you. It will be mine, as no one else ever has possessed it. It will destroy you and create a masterpiece. Vader. A true Lord of the Sith. And then, when you have served your purpose, you will wait for the Force to take you.” Sidious braced his face in icy hands, so close now they breathed each other’s stale air, “You will wait for your Master to welcome you. But he will turn away from the pathetic failure before him. The Force itself will spit you out. And after your life of selfless service to the Light, it is a Sith Lord who knows you best, knows your soul in all its frailties, knows how to make you scream…”

He pried the hands away, panting, but the trespass of his head went on and on and on. His mind was sick with the hot pressure. 

“I know you best, Obi-Wan Kenobi, because I know you hate yourself most of all. You failed your Master, you failed your apprentice, you failed every Jedi killed at Vader’s hand. Yes, I _know_ …” Sidious moaned in his ear, “I know too that you hate yourself for liking what I do to you. The Jedi made you think you didn’t like it, or _need_ it. Now you realize even the saintly Kenobi is just a man at the core. Crude matter. You are so adept at hiding things, but you cannot hide how your body responds to my touch. You cannot hide from me at all.”

A siege. 

He closed his eyes against it. He had good things good things the Light his Master the Temple—

“They are gone now. You are mine.”

the Light the Light the Light

“Soon enough, you will come to the Darkness. Don’t you feel it? Feel it.”

the beautiful forgiving Light it would forgive him his anger his helplessness his failures 

oh his failures

his failures

he was too slow

he didn’t see

he didn’t want to see

why didn’t he see Anakin

He saw Anakin no no no Vader Vader standing at the door to the cell—

closed his eyes again and Qui-Gon brushes the hair from his face 

he is Obi-Wan

young

safe

_You did very well, Padawan._

_I lost._

_Sometimes we all must lose, even you. But losing is not the same as defeat. Have you been defeated, Obi-Wan?_

_I did not win._

_And yet, here you are, ever in the Light. Even as you lose. I do not expect you to be perfect. I expect you to be Good. If you are Good, if you follow the way of the Force, no one can defeat you._

I am Good I am Good I am Good I am Good I am I am I am I am I am Good Good Good the Light the way the Light the way 

“Feel it.”

He felt the eyes of his old student on him, but they were churning lava terrible Darkness anger pain regret anger anger anger 

And Sidious stared into his mind the glowing red eyes under the bed Garen had teased him and said monsters aren’t real but even then he knew that was a lie he dreamed of the eyes and the monsters and an unspeakable looming horror later much later when he was twenty twenty one twenty two twenty three twenty four twenty five he woke screaming and sometimes his Master would find him retching

_Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what you see._

the wrong is wrong the wrong is wrong 

_the here and now_

“I have always been with you. We are connected in death. My apprentice killed your Master, you killed my apprentice. Now we are united in flesh and spirit.”

here

now

“Stop! STOP! Please, just leave him alone!”

Anakin was yelling. But Anakin was dead, so he must be sleeping, where he could still hear Anakin, where he heard all the voices.

“Stop! Please! I’ll take his place! Please stop! I’ve done everything you asked. Just stop hurting him.”

He looked up, saw Sidious and Vader through a kaleidoscope of blood and shadow and his own tears. Lips against his ear. “Shall I do as Vader requests? Shall he take your place?”

He looked over Sidious’ shoulder at Anakin-Vader-Anakin. He wore the Sith’s black mantle, a scornful inverse of the Jedi uniform. 

_You’re the closest thing I have to a father._

“No,” he said, his voice an empty husk.

“Then tell him you like it. Tell him you want it, or I will do the same and worse to him.”

He breathed harder. 

_Have you been defeated, Obi-Wan?_

“Yes, Master.” He said to Qui-Gon Jinn, but it was Sidious who smiled at the concession. 

“Then say _it._ Say it to him.”

“I…” The words caught in his throat. A Jedi would not bend. A Jedi would not debase himself before a Sith. He had been taught better. To protect Vader now was to betray those teachings. Even if he was the last of the Jedi, shouldn’t he live-and die-in honor of the Code? 

_A Jedi shall not know attachment_

here and now

And then images flashed in his brain. Vader, forced to commit acts more hideous than anything that had happened so far in the cell. Darkness and pain and the Sith Lord’s snickering laughter. 

He grabbed his throbbing head and cried out. 

Now he watched Qui-Gon impaled on Maul’s blade but instead of the shocked, open-mouthed horror replayed so often in his dreams, his Master smiled as the saber cut through him, and kavasa fruit fell in clumps from his mouth.

_Promise me. Promise me you’ll make a monster, Obi-Wan. Create a killing machine to gut the Order, one by one. I know you can do it._

_You are competent._

_You are competent._

_Competent_

Endless. Qui-Gon was stabbed again and when he ran to his side kavasa and cream filled the hole burned into the broad chest. 

_Taste it, Obi-Wan. Sweet gore, and there is so much more to come. Glut yourself on it. You let me die. You let everyone die. Feast, Obi-Wan._

Qui-Gon reached into the wound, and then lifted wet, red fingers to his apprentice’s mouth. 

_It’s just for you, Obi-Wan. Taste it and I’ll taste you. At last._

_Taste it for Anakin. You hated him._

_no_

_You hate him for not being me and you hate me for making you train him. Hatred is your gift, Padawan. Now taste my gift._

no

_Taste it._

no no no

_No one lived up to your moral standards. You begrudged Anakin the happiness he found with Padmé, lovely Padmé, and here you are, my chaste little apprentice, rutting with the Sith. You are no Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi._

_If you were a true Jedi_

the red haze red kavasa red tattooed demon face red blade red eyes Anakin’s red eyes my Padawan my life younglings Mustafar Mustafar fire

_I would still be alive, if not for you._

_Anakin would be in the Light. He would know his children._

“Say it.”

red heat crawling up his face 

“I’m sorry,” he managed a broken whimper, “Master, I’m sorry.” His head buzzed and vibrated, as every despair in his heart rose and swarmed his brain. He would never have his Master or Padawan beside him again. The good things were untouchable, because they would forever exist only in the past. 

All the days of Qui-Gon Jinn’s life, left unlived.

Anakin Skywalker’s beautiful, sprawling future, and now he was a slave, to the Sith and to Darkness. 

His own sacred connection to the Force, choked off from him, as he had been choked on Mustafar, Vader squeezing and screaming his hatred. He looked into the eyes of the boy from Tatooine but found none of him there. 

The Jedi. A loss beyond words. A pain beyond understanding.

It was not enough for this creature to take everything from him. His grief was mocked, his memories tainted, his body….

He had not hated Qui-Gon or Anakin. He loved them in a way he had never acknowledged, never allowed himself to feel, completely, until now, and no collar or false image could diminish it. They were not perfect, but they had been Good.

He missed them. 

He had tried to be Good, knew he was not perfect, but it was not enough, and if hatred was his gift, he would bestow it only to the most deserving.

my Master my Padawan the younglings the Jedi Padmé Qui-Gon Anakin Yoda hear me forgive me

And he launched himself at the Sith, the buzzing growing louder and louder in his ears, his face hot and his hands cold.

“Master!” Vader was shouting, but it was impossible to know who the desperate cry addressed, and it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered to him now. He was Nothing, and he let the nothing take him, use him as he had already been used. If Vader said anything more, he could not hear it above the sharp drone in his ears, in his head. 

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you my Master my Padawan disgusting filthy evil Sith I will tear your heart out and eat it and then you’ll know what it’s like I want you to know what it’s like that’s what I’ll taste you vile depraved thing I’ll eat your heart and drink your blood and laugh as you laughed at me as you laughed and laughed and laughed

He snarled and scratched and pressed his thumbs into the hideous yellow eyes and pressed harder and harder

My Master my Padawan 

My Master my Padawan

and he almost thought he could hear them, Qui-Gon and Anakin, calling to him, calling his name, begging him to stop

but he had no name

he would not stop

Sidious’ hands were around his neck. He knew he should fight that, but he had to press those cursed eyes until they exploded all over the cell. Then no one would ever look at him like _that_ again.

“Perhaps,” The Sith was breathless, “Dooku was right about you.”

A clean, crisp click.

All the restraint fell away from his neck. Something clattered onto the duracrete. 

The collar. 

It was the last coherent thought before a rush of energy assaulted him, filled him to the brim, burning and bright 

he could not contain it after so long without it 

The Force too much too much 

and red and terrible

wave after wave of infinite power

whispering

take it take it take it take it take it use it use it use it use it use it

limitless potential trembled in his veins

kill him kill him power you have the power kill him vengeance kill kill kill him 

He dropped to his knees and covered his aching head in his arms. His skin was too thin and tight, it would not hold—

no no no no no no no

Hands caressed his back. “Now you know what you are made of.” The Sith crooned behind him. “It wants you. You want it. You thought you belonged to the Light, but when the Force returned to you, it was the Darkness that recognized you.”

More hands touched him, grasped his arms, kept him upright. Vader looked into his face. “Master, your eyes.”

He reached for the Light, but with nerveless fingers, and it was like closing his hand around smoke. For the first time, he had sought the Light, and the Light had not known him. “Anakin,” He said, and collapsed between the two Sith.


	4. Chapter 4

-

He did not remember this place, or how he had arrived here. He only knew they were in a grey room with a small window, and outside the window was a grey sky striated with black clouds. 

He touched his hand to the window and when he pulled it away, blood dripped from his fingers. He looked down. Scarlet soaked the knees of his white trousers. Blast. He would need to change before the ceremony began. 

Qui-Gon was gazing out the window. “There’s no time for that. It’s going to rain.” His Master wore crisp white tunics, his long hair pulled into a braid. He smiled, crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. Bright blue eyes in the expanse of colorless dinge. “You’ve been waiting for this your entire life, Obi-Wan.”

His thoughts were thick soup. “I did everything I could,” He said. He had forgotten what the ceremony was for, but he wanted to resemble his Master, clean and pristine He looked down again. The red was running down his ankles and pooling around his bare feet. “Master, I believe I need to change. This will never do.”

Qui-Gon grasped his shoulders with solid, firm hands. “This is fine, Obi-Wan. This is perfect for you.”

He tried to return the fond smile, but a lump suddenly rose in his throat, and he gasped, coughing until he doubled over.

“That’s fine, Obi-Wan. Here,” Qui-Gon’s palm appeared under his mouth. “Just let it out.”

He obeyed his Master and his body’s overpowering instinct. He gagged and sputtered and vomited the lump into the waiting hand. 

Qui-Gon inspected the whole kavasa fruit. “You see, Obi-Wan? Perfect.”

He sucked in air, tears streaming down his face. “I didn’t like that.”

Qui-Gon reached out and nudged his chin with a finger. “You don’t know what you like. You don’t know who you are. Is that why you want a new Master? Do you need someone to tell you what to do?”

The red puddle was spreading across the floor. Panic needled his skin. “I don’t want a new Master. Please. Don’t leave.”

Someone knocked on the door. He had not realized the room had a door. He grabbed Qui-Gon by the shoulders. His heart pounded in his ears, in rhythm with the anonymous visitor now pummeling the door. “Please, please, let’s go.”

Qui-Gon took his face in his hands. Broad, familiar hands. Hands that had never touched him with anything but kindness. 

Master. Master. My only Master. 

“Where would we go, Obi-Wan?”

He wrapped his fingers around the hands, squeezing,as if he could physically will them into permanence. “I-I don’t know, Master. I don’t want to answer the door.”

Qui-Gon pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. His breath was warm, and reminiscent of good things, faraway things, a time of promise and purity. “You called him here, Obi-Wan. Why shouldn’t you answer?”

He shook his head helplessly as the inpatient visitor beat beat beat at the door. “I didn’t mean to. I…” Another unbidden lump clogged his esophagus. “I…”

“Shhh, you’re fighting it again. But you already stopped fighting, didn’t you? That’s why we’re here. You must hurry. I must go before the rain starts.”

He did not comprehend his Master’s words, but an alien part of his brain accepted the logic without question. He didn’t want his Master getting caught in the rain. He staggered to the door, each step a wet slap through the blood, his tunics sopping with it now. 

He went to open the door but the door had evaporated and Dooku stood in the fresh void, eyes closed, long arms hanging at his sides. 

He spun around to Qui-Gon. “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want to. Please.” He tried to swallow the mass rising in his throat but retched instead. “M-Master…”

Qui-Gon stroked his cheek, once, twice. “I know you’re afraid. Is that why you did it? Because you were afraid? Does that make it alright, Obi-Wan?”

It would never be alright. He knew that. He was selfish to cling to Qui-Gon. He was going to get blood all over his Master’s white clothes. 

Qui-Gon was on the other side of the room, standing at the window. “I have to go. I feel the rain coming.” 

He was so tall and serene and undefiled. A hero, a mystic, a loving man. Gone. 

He tried to cry out to his Master, but when he opened his mouth two eyeballs dropped from his tongue into his hands. He dragged his gaze to Dooku and the man’s eyelids were open, revealing empty sockets. The Sith still stared through him. “Stand in the rain with me, young one. Cleanse yourself. Start again, with me.”

The eyes in his hands peered up at him, twin cauldrons of fire and sulfur. 

His eyes. 

Master your eyes

“Your Padawan cut off my head for taking his arm.” The sightless Dooku intoned, in his deep, rumbling timbre. A red slash stood out across his wrinkled neck. “He cut off my head. It will feel good to cut the head from Sidious’s body, will it not? Cut the head from the body that took your body?”

He shook his head, taking a step backward. He let the eyes drop from his fingers. “My Master—“

“Come now,” Dooku lifted a stiff arm towards him, cutting through the air with rotting nails. “I am your Master’s Master. This is in your blood. We can drink the blood of Sidious together. Drink, Obi-Wan, and you shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”

Something splashed onto the shoulders of his tunic. Rain.

no no the rain the rain what comes with the rain

Dooku’s mouth widened into a pointed grin. “Drink,” He said, “Drink and don’t stop.”

Drink drink drink drink the rain the rain the blood 

The rain fell and he crouched with his arms folded over his head, as blind as Dooku in the red torrent, gulping for breath.

“Don’t fight!” The Sith shouted, his black cloak sodden. 

“Don’t fight!”

A vise around his wrists. The cuffs. No no no no no no no he would not be chained not by anyone he couldn’t 

“Obi-Wan, stop!”

If he stopped he would be chained to the wall with his arms above his head again. Captive to the sick whims of the clones and their Master.

Not my Master not my Master my Master is Qui-Gon Jinn my Master is Qui-Gon Jinn I have only one Master my Master I will have no other 

No other will have me

No one will have me

With that resolve he found the strength to break the cuffs from his wrists. He landed on his back and when he lifted his eyes he saw the rain coming down.

Clear, hot water. 

And Anakin—-Vader, hovered above him. But he was not carrying shackles, just a rag and white bar. “I’m not trying to hurt you, alright?” 

Through the cascading water he saw Vader’s bare skin, realized they were both naked. Wild instinct bucked up inside him and he kicked and cursed. He grappled for the Force but 

no

it was changed now

it would recoil from his touch

his dark and betraying touch

and he could not endure the rejection. 

“Obi-Wan, please, please get up.”

It was Anakin’s voice, Anakin pleading, but Anakin had died sometime after he left for Utapau, before he fell in the water. He had been shot down into the water and swallowed a mouthful of water that tasted of tainted earth and now that water coursed down his skin, the water of Utapau, the ocean of his own willful stupidity. He would drown. He wanted to drown, anything but--

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry. Please get up.”

The words were torrential, like the rain, coming so quickly one syllable could not be distinguished from one another, as one drop could not be isolated in a downpour. 

_I have to go. I feel the rain coming._

Everyone had gone. Qui-Gon and Padme and Mace and every familiar face in the Temple and the Temple itself and the Force itself. It was only the two of them in the shower stall. It had always been only the two of them, since Naboo.

The pain was too much. He curled up on his side and let the water pound his face. 

“No, Master, please.” Vader said, “Please get up.”

He could not. His bones were water now too. The Dark knew him.

Vader was on his knees beside him. “I won’t hurt you. I-I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

He could not. Anakin was dead now. The Dark knew him.

“Please, Obi-Wan. I’m just trying to get you clean.”

He could not. He would never be clean now. The Dark knew him.

He closed his eyes and felt the rag scrub his skin. He smelled the mildness of soap, the civility of soap and warm water. They had washed each other before, in the thick of the war, in illness and exhaustion and friendship. 

Neither of them would be clean now. The Dark knew them.

\---


	5. Chapter 5

_To fight this Lord Sidious, strong enough you are not._

_To fight this Lord Sidious, strong enough you are not._

_To fight_

_Strong enough you are not._

He laid on a cold, metal bed in a room he had not been before. He refused to wear the black tunics and leggings Vader provided. He could not don the uniform of a Sith. 

He was not like them

Master your eyes

and he would not look like them. He faced a wall. He understood now that they were in space, but could not sense where they were going, if anywhere. 

It didn’t seem to matter, anyway. 

A hand touched his shoulder. Vader’s flesh hand. “I’m bringing a healer.”

There was no healing. The Dark was a festering, hungry scourge. Once it had a taste of you, it would eat and eat, until the good parts of your heart blackened and shriveled. The Dark killed you before you were dead. He was not who he had been.

But he would not be like them.

The Force was there, an apparition behind a curtain. He stood close enough that he brushed the edges, but he knew it would never be as it once was. He had survived Naboo, Geonosis, Rattatak….Mustafar, the Force his polestar at each turn, but Master Yoda had been right. He was not strong enough. Sidious had exploited his every weakness, only because he allowed himself to be exploited. A true Jedi would remain steadfast in the face of corruption, torture. 

Violation.

Since his capture on Mustafar, he had longed to touch the Force again, certain it would restore him and fill those gaping, empty spaces in his soul. He had been naive. Naive as he knelt before Yoda and begged to face Sidious, and naive in his captivity, thinking his wit and training would carry him through. If he was ever a Jedi, he could not claim the title now, not after summoning the sick energies of the Darkness, reveling in his anger and rage. He wanted to build walls around his mind; it felt like Sidious was still pounding inside his head, and he wished he could wrap himself in the Light, shining so brightly. So purely. He would let it burn him up.

He closed his eyes. He saw Qui-Gon’s pyre. He imagined crawling up beside his Master and laying in the cleansing flame. He had imagined it then, too, at the funeral, wanted to die with Qui-Gon, rather than endure his failure to reach his beloved Master in time, rather than live without the man.

Rather than live with Anakin?

That was Sidious talking, drilling another hole. Or it wasn’t. At this point, it was not easy to decipher between the Sith and himself. Taunting whispers echoed through the new, aching wounds where Obi-Wan Kenobi used to be. He was not a name, or a Jedi, or even a man. He was just a skittering collection of thoughts and mistakes and reactions. He did not hope, but distantly he wondered if any Jedi had managed to survive, precious stars in the blood and flotsam. Would they be able to do what he could not? 

“Obi-Wan?”

His bare skin shivered against the metal. Anakin’s hand was not warm. It was something they always had in common, their dislike of the cold on ships. No-- not Anakin, Vader. Not Palpatine, Sidious. Not Light, Dark. 

Not Obi-Wan, nothing.

“The healer is here...he’s going to...he’s just going to…”

He could not follow the trail of words. They sounded too far away. Different hands touched him. The impersonal, quick ministrations of a doctor. There were more words and touches, and he felt Vader loom closer as the healer finished the intimate examination. Anakin had never quite trusted anyone else with his Master’s life. He remembered the boy picking a fight with the venerable Master Healer Vokara Che. Of course, he retreated after Che’s eyes narrowed in his direction and she made certain, rather colorful threats.

Of course, she must be dead now. 

“Can you...open...eyes?”

_Master your eyes_

“Hey,” Vader’s breath gusted in his ear, “The healer needs to check your eyes. To rule out concussion, you know?”

He knew. A pinpoint of light, a clinical gaze peering from behind it. Vokara Che had told him he was a magnet for concussions, and should wear a helmet even in bed. 

_I would rather be demagnetized. I was almost a farmer, except Master Qui-Gon chose me at the last moment. Perhaps he should have left me to that other fate. It seems much more peaceful._

_You would still attract danger, just sitting amongst your seedlings. Speaking of which, your seedling named Skywalker seems to need a few additional lessons in tact. And respecting his elders._

Warmth bloomed in his chest. “Seedling,” he whispered, and smiled. Qui-Gon would have been a natural farmer, with his patience and affinity for the Living Force. He would have planted Anakin in untainted soil. He could almost smell the sharp sweetness of green things.

“You can close them again right after, but he needs to check.” 

Qui-Gon kept plants in their quarters, and sometimes he would find tiny spotted bugs in his tea, and months after Qui-Gon died, on his first official mission with Anakin, he looked down and saw a little black-and-white bug in his tea, and he swallowed the lump in his throat and when Anakin asked him what was wrong, he just shook his head and told him to go over their itinerary again.

He should have said _I miss my Master. Do you miss your mother?_

Hands turned his head forward. 

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. It’ll be fast.” Vader’s flesh fingers pried his right eyelids apart, and he saw the probing light and blurred face of a stranger. 

“That’s it, look right there,” the healer murmured, “Now the other.”

It was bad enough that Anakin--no no Vader had seen 

_Master your eyes_

and now this man was another witness to the abomination. The healer had seen it and surely thought he was another one of them. Vader forcibly opened his left eye; the light swept in and out. 

“I don’t...but...dehydration...intravenous…”

He detached from the conversation. He was not his body. He didn’t much care what happened to it anymore. There was power in not caring. He was tired and he did not care. 

He fell into a grey sleep while the healer and Anakin---Vader, Vader, talked above him.

\---

When he woke, the healer had left and the room was dark. Vader sat at his bedside. His face was partially outlined by artificial light breaking in from the hall. His jaw looked smooth. The troopers used to tease Anakin about his insistence on staying clean-shaven.

He touched fingers to his own face and realized his beard was gone. 

“Sorry about that. It wasn’t really...salvageable.”

“What is?” He wondered, and was somehow surprised by the meager little croak that had replaced his voice. 

“ _You_ are.” Vader insisted, with quiet passion. It must be late—-or the new Sith was afraid of attracting unwanted attention. “The healer said you’ll be fine.”

He stared up into the darkness. It was as if time did not exist here, without dawn or dusk, no way of knowing if a month or year had gone by since the Order’s holocaust. “Until you return me to your Master.” He said. 

A pause. “I won’t do that. You have my word.”

He snorted. “The word of a Sith.”

A blanket had been placed over him and he drew it around his chin, closed his eyes. How many nights had they spent like this, talking to each other through the shadows, weighed down by the tension of things unsaid? 

“I hate him for what he did to you. I swear I’ll make him pay for it, Obi-Wan. And I—I know it’s hard, but we can—“

“You don’t know.” He whispered. He was glad Vader did not know, despite everything the foolish man had caused. He didn’t want anyone to know that kind of pain. “Hate is the opposite of strength. It is a false strength.”

Vader took his hand. Mechanical fingers curled around his palm. “How can you not hate him, after—“

“I don’t hate anyone.” He let his hand drop out of Vader’s grasp. “No matter what he’s told you.”

Vader sat with him in silence. The connection they once shared in the Force was dead, yet he could feel the war still waging inside the younger man.

He was so tired. 

“Obi-Wan?”

He was so tired, it did not hurt as deeply to hear that name. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. It’s just…” He heard Vader shift in his seat. “Did he…”

He sighed. “Anything you can think of. Some things you would never think of.”

A shuddering intake of breath. “Master…”

“And who do you address when you use that term?” He said sharply. He did not hate anyone. He did not hate anyone. He was not his body. 

“You.” Vader leaned in, until their foreheads touched. “Only you. It’s never going to be like it was. I ruined everything. I know that. Padme is never coming back. I don’t know if she’s alive, or the babies...Obi-Wan, I won’t let him take the last thing I have.”

“You’re playing right into his hands. He _wants_ you to think like this, so that when he kills me, he will finally and completely break you. Once you are broken, he can control you.”

“That’s what he thinks,” Anakin, please why couldn’t it be Anakin, hissed against his temple. “But I won’t be his slave. I’m getting you out of here, and he’s not going to stop me. I’ll kill him if he tries. He knows I can do it. I’m more powerful than him.”

He laughed softly at the familiar boast. “Maybe so, but are you _smarter_?”

Vader sat up straight. “You are.”

“Oh yes,” he drawled, “I’ve been just brilliant so far.”

It was hard to see Vader’s expression in the dark, but he knew him so well, and for so long, that he didn’t need to see. “You don’t understand, Obi-W—-you don’t know. I think his plans for you...have changed.”

He didn’t care. He didn’t care. Carefully, he swallowed and closed his eyes. “How do you know this?”

“Sometimes I can sense stuff from him. He has crazy-strong shields but I’m the Chosen One, right?”

He was not prepared for that, a sock in the gut. “Right.”

“At first, I knew he just wanted to kill you. Now, he seems..” Dread hung heavy in the words. “Master, I think you’ve _impressed_ him.”

He felt like fingernails were scratching up his brain, every hand of every dead Jedi scrabbling for purchase in his grey matter, howling their disgust and betrayal. Master your eyes He turned away from Anakin-Vader Vader Vader Vader Vader Vader 

no no no no no no no I haven’t done this I couldn’t no this is not me this is not what I was meant for I am Qui-Gon’s seedling and we are in the sunlight together he and I together and I am a padawan and 

“Please, please stop. Please, Obi-Wan. I can’t take it. You have to stop.”

yes of course he wanted to stop he wanted it all to stop he wanted 

“Please, Master. Shhhhh.”

He was curled over the edge of the metal cot, keening noises escaping through his clenched teeth. He had never cried in front of Anakin. He wanted to stop. He wanted to be good and bathed in Light and unaware of the things that evil could do. But he was not good, the Light could see the change in him, and his body would never let him forget—

Vader-Anakin-Anakin-Anakin-Padawan-Padawan-blonde-boy-blue-eyes flattened his flesh palm against his heaving back. “Please, Master, what can I do? What can I do?”

But the desperate voice sounded too much like Anakin, when he was younger and frustrated and wanting to be right. He wept for the helpless child his Padawan had once been, would never be again. He could not guide him back from this place. Anakin used to look up at him and he would not be able to breathe from the devotion and human need in those crystalline blue eyes. Before it went wrong, before the war, when they were very young and still learning their way, the boy had loved him.

Sidious had mutilated that inherent sense of loyalty in Anakin Skywalker’s spirit, but it had been his own Master who made him vulnerable, accessible, to the Sith. 

And he had been so righteous, so exasperated, so high-and-farking-mighty about Anakin. He thought it was out of concern and a desire for his student to succeed. 

Except, the Light recognized his lies. The miserable, vile Sith Lord _knew_. 

And now he knew he was so much worse, because he had been raised in the Temple from birth, with all its serenity and advantages, and still touched the Darkness. He had not been a slave, or ripped away from his mother. He had no excuse. 

He was just weak. Or...something far more terrible. Something that could captivate a Sith, a murderer, a heartless—

His mouth was flooded with rotten sick-spit and when he vomited he saw viscous red splatter onto the ground, as if viscera had spilled out of his throat or

regurgitated kavasa fruit 

and Anakin just for this moment Anakin clutched his face, his eyes only blue, huge gleaming blue planets in the room’s pall, and his fear shocked and sparked along the frail little Force wires still connecting them. Anakin was beautiful, he looked the way you’d expect a Jedi, a hero to look, even now, with the tears rimming his eyes and his sweaty hair hanging limply across his brow. “This isn’t gonna destroy you, okay?” Anakin whispered, lips quivering. “I’m going to try to fix things, but it won’t matter if I lose you. You’re all that’s keeping me here, Obi-Wan.”

He turned his head away, lost in the current of guilt and disgust, replaying his hideous thoughts and actions again and again, remembering how the Dark came to him and knew his name, his real name, and how Sidious had filled him up and—

Anakin touched his cheek, softer than he had been touched since...he did not know, except that he did not deserve kindness, perhaps neither of them did, and he swallowed a moan. 

“I spent a lot of time trying to prove to myself, to everyone, to you that I was worthy. I wanted your approval so much that I hated you for it. I pushed you away, but when I did that…” Anakin choked, “Everything always got bad. That’s why Sidious maneuvered to drive a wedge between us. If you had not gone to Utapau…”

The implication was obvious. Terrible. 

“I cannot be your conscience. Especially now…I cannot.”

Anakin frowned. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Obi-Wan. You’re just trying to survive. I think anyone else would be dead by now after what he—“

“Have you considered that might be better?” He sunk back down, wiping the bile from the corner of his mouth. “What value is there in surviving what should not survived? Tolerating the intolerable? At what cost have I lived through the torments and perversions of Palpatine? What about my _eyes_ , Anakin?”

He had not meant to speak so loudly. His pitiful cry echoed in the room. Vaguely he wondered if anyone else heard, if this would signal a new stage of his torture.

“Shhh,” Anakin huddled closer, “What about your eyes?”

He was loathe to describe it. “I know what happened to them.”

Realization registered on Anakin’s face. “That was just for a second.”

 _Just for a second._ As if giving into evil was a momentary lapse to be immediately forgiven and forgotten. He shook his head, staring at the ceiling.

“Look, I know you and I aren’t going to be the same. You have no reason to trust me. But seeing what he’s done to you…” Anakin’s voice tightened, “It’s all I see when I close my eyes. And it’s my fault. I have to fix it.”

“You cannot fix it. It’s happened. The Jedi are dead. So many more will die under your new Master’s rule. You are focused on _my_ small pains because it hurts _you_. Because you still think you can own people, Anakin.”

He waited for the conflagration of denial and rage. 

But Anakin just laid a cheek on his forehead. “She’s gone, Master. She hates me and she should hate me. I did it for her...I mean...I thought I did…”

Tentatively, he placed his hand on the back of Anakin’s bowed head. “It is good she’s gone, Anakin. I hope she is somewhere far away, and safe.”

Anakin shifted just enough to look at him. “You really don’t know where she is?”

He did not sense an ulterior motive in the question, not that his Force sense counted for much anymore. “No. I was busy being strangled by my best friend.”

Anakin reached for his hand with slick mech fingers. “Sorry isn’t enough. I can’t take it back. I was just so angry and frustrated and scared. Now the haze is finally lifting and I can see what he is. He...if I don’t get you out of here, he’s not going to stop. He’s obsessed with Turning you.”

He laughed, but it sounded a bit unhinged, even to himself. “He’s already won. I touched the Dark, Anakin. I did. I’m no better than you, or him, or the monster who murdered my Master. It’s all the same—“

“No,” The artificial hand fisted in the blanket. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. He’s obsessed with Turning you because you’re so good. He thinks if he gets the very best of the Jedi to Fall, then he’s won.”

But the best of the Jedi were already dead, slaughtered on a hundred different worlds, their corpses burned in the Temple. He was not good like Yoda, or Mace, or dear, brave Padme. He had nothing left. 

Anakin did not needle him for his silence. The younger man gave him water and found another blanket. He replaced bandages and then asked him if he needed to relieve himself. 

He did, but could not find the energy to care. 

His fingers brushed the place on his neck where the collar had been, out of habit. “Anakin, he has not won, not while good still exists. And it will always exist. The Light will rise. But I do not want to survive this.”

Anakin smoothed the hair out of his face. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. It’s this place, and the way he gets inside you--”

“He won’t get out. It’s a disease now and I won’t waste away from it. I can’t do this….” He gripped Anakin’s sleeve. “I hope you can get out.”

Anakin’s lips set in a resolute line. “ _We’re_ getting out. I’m getting us out, Obi-Wan. And maybe one day, you’ll be happy you survived this.”

He was too tired to argue. He closed his eyes, feeling Sidious there in his mind, a stain that darkened and spread. 

_Strong enough you are not._

He was a seedling, but the roots had not held.


	6. Chapter 6

There was an old Jedi philosopher 

what was his name

he knew it 

but his mind was numb like a mouth would be numb before having a tooth extracted and he knew what the shape of the name was 

the notches and lines of teeth

except he was too numb to feel it, to really know it now. He still remembered what the old Jedi said, however: a Jedi cannot be imprisoned, for the Force can bend and open every cage. 

A light could not be turned out if the Light was inside you, in the You that was boundless and eternal and an echo of the Force itself. 

These things he tried to tell himself, because somewhere he must still be that person, who was Good, who when he was a very young child jumped into one of the thousand fountains

had there really been a thousand

to fish out Bant’s blanket 

he had never counted them

he had not thought about it, just jumped in, for her

how had he lived his whole life his entire life without counting them

and he jumped so many times after that for so many others. He would have jumped into the river of lava on Mustafar to save Anakin from this. Save himself. He knew what it was like to fall into a pit and burn. He had fallen into the pit of fire beetles as a new Padawan and writhed and screamed for his Master, who had come for him, as the pincers dug in and ignited a conflagration through his whole body. He could do that again, burn burn burn if it meant 

“Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, I’m trying to talk to you. Are you hearing me?”

A hand was grasping his shoulder. He felt the flare of worry in the Force, in the turbid grey part of it where he lived now. He dragged his eyes open and Anakin was standing beside the cot, dressed in black tunics and robe and his eyes looked like they did whenever he was afraid to tell him something. 

“I have to go to Alderaan.”

“Where are we?” He asked, for the first time since the earliest interrogations.

“Not Alderaan. I won’t be gone long. I’ll try not to be gone long.” The hand tightened. “I wanted to take you with me, but he won’t allow it. I have to go. It’s important.”

An inevitability hung over everything. Anakin would go. He would stay. He could not find the energy to be angry or afraid. “He will…”

“No. He’s going to leave you alone. That’s our...arrangement, or whatever you wanna call it. One of my troops is assigned to watch out for you, feed you and stuff. He’s got direct communication with me, so I’ll know you’re alright.” 

“Are you going to Alderaan for him?”

Him. Palpatine. Fingers and mouth and death.

“I’m going for Padmé. Some surveillance suggests she might be there.”

Now worry pierced between his ribs. No no no. Padmé. The children. Would Anakin bring them here? “You cannot. Anakin, what would he do to her—“

“He’s not going to touch her. I’m going to find her and our children and get them somewhere safe, and then I’ll find a way to get you there too.”

He sat up on trembling elbows.“You must understand that once you find Padmé, she will never be safe from him. You pledged yourself to his service and he will not free you from that. If Padmé and the children are out there, don’t lead him to them. You must think of their welfare before your own.”

Anakin compressed his lips. “I am thinking of them. They _need_ me. I can protect them from him.”

“Like you’ve protected me?” He rasped the accusation. “You think you can outsmart him, when a short while ago you betrayed us all to take your place at his side. If Padmé has a chance to be safe, if those children do, you mustn’t interfere. Let her go.”

“I _can’t_. She’s my wife, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even met my own children. Maybe she won’t be on Alderaan. Maybe she hates me. But if there’s a chance, I have to try. We could all start over again. I’ll help you.”

He shook his head. “If you wish to offer recompense for anything you’ve done, you must start thinking of others first.”

“I do. I think of her all the time. And the babies. And you. Everything I do now is for them, for you, Obi-Wan.”

He closed his eyes. This was a lesson Anakin had never understood. “There is a difference between doing what is in our best interest and doing what makes you happy. Which will you choose?”

“I don’t have to choose. I’ll get both.” Anakin said, with all the conviction of a deluded Sith, a child in the grip of fantasy. “Things can be better. I can make you forget this ever happened. It’s just a little part of our lives. It can’t compare to all the years we’ve spent together.”

His body was shaking. Anakin wrapped the blanket around him but it did not help. He was shaking inside. 

A little part. A little part. 

He crossed his arms against his chest and curled into himself. A little part. Little pains, little invasions, little screams. 

“It doesn’t count, Obi-Wan. You didn’t get a choice so it doesn’t count. You’re still just the same. You can’t see it right now but I can. You’re still my best friend.” Anakin gathered him in his arms. “I love you.”

He sagged against Anakin’s chest. “If I could could go back, I would have told you, when it might have mattered.”

“It...” Anakin smoothed his hair. “It was so...hard with us, you know? But I knew you cared. I remember once I was stuck at the Temple while you were gone on this long mission. You got back in the middle of the night and you’d smuggled back like an entire box of these little jelly cookies and we sat on my bed and ate them all together.” Anakin laughed softly, and he felt the rumble against his ear. “I think you regretted it though because then I tore through your rucksack the next day looking for more.”

He could taste those cookies, the sweet cold night he had forgotten. He had been good. They had been good. He had tried to be good like his own Master but he wasn’t. Anakin was leaving this time and he would be the one waiting but no one would bring him cookies and he would be raped again

and that was not a little part

and he twisted in the blankets, pressing his face into the pillow while Anakin said something. Anakin loved him but what was the love of a Sith worth what was the word of a friend worth if they could leave you to be tortured and raped Anakin knew it was going to happen and he was still going to Alderaan a civilized place a beautiful place didn’t Anakin understand he couldn’t take it anymore he was going to vomit and shit until there was nothing left until he was _dead_

He looked up at the other man. “What else will he do to try to Turn me?” He took a shuddering breath, released it as a pathetic, weak sob. “What else can he do?”

Anakin was curling and uncurling his fingers against his palms. “Just eat and sleep and get strong, alright? I’ll be back for you, I promise.”

And he was alone, left to wonder what a promise was worth, if there had been a thousand fountains after all. 

———

Without the collar, he could feel the trooper’s hatred as he dropped the tray of food onto the side table with a metal clatter. The disgust dripped from his pores.

“You’re lucky Vader’s got a hard-on for you.” The trooper sneered. “There’s a lotta men here that would kill you just for the deep fucking pleasure of it. We killed the rest of you fast. Would be nice to do it slow once.”

“I knew Jango Fett. He was about as pleasant as you are.” He said. Murder by trooper was a preferable fate at this point, and at least he could die in the manner his friends had. Perhaps he could needle the man into losing control. “I will not be eating, so you can take it away.” He motioned to the tray. “The smell is making me quite sick.”

“Is it now? Then you know how the rest of us feel around _you_ , fucking Jedi. I’m not gonna beg you to eat. But Vader says I’m in charge of keeping his pathetic little meatbag alive, so if you don’t do it the old fashioned way, I’ll have to think of something more creative.”

He couldn’t even begin to consider what that could entail. “I’ve always been a bit old fashioned,” he said, and picked up a piece of bread. 

———-

He jumped into the water. Bant had told him not to.

———

He woke up. Qui-Gon was standing in the corner of the dark room. 

He closed his eyes. Sidious was doing this and he would not be fooled. Qui-Gon had joined with the Force and he didn’t need to see him to know he was there, only there. 

He opened his eyes. Qui-Gon was standing in the corner of the dark room. 

He closed his eyes. There is no emotion there is peace there is no ignorance there is knowledge there is no passion there is serenity there is no chaos there is harmony there is no death there is the Force there is no emotion there is peace there is no ignorance there is knowledge there is no passion there is serenity there is no chaos there is harmony there is no death there is the Force there is no emotion there is peace what is his name what is his name I know it I know it I know it a Jedi cannot be imprisoned for the Force can bend and open every cage no cage there is no cage 

He opened his eyes. Qui-Gon was standing in the corner of the dark room, his silhouette awash in luminous sapphire, the color his eyes had been, when he was alive and would look at him and smile. He ran his hands over his face. Sidious’s hands felt like cold gorm-worms on his face when he when he when he when he when he there is no emotion there is no passion there is no serenity 

“Obi-Wan.”

The voice sounded like like 

no no no no 

The voice was breaking open his insides and all the warmth and pain and grief was seeping out from all the years since he watched Qui-Gon Master Master die 

“I have touched the Darkness but I will die before I join you.” He said, fastening his gaze to the ceiling. His naked skin prickled. Sweat slicked the small of his back, behind his knees. He was not here. He was in another time. With danishes and cookies. “I cannot be imprisoned.” He realized he was panting, clutching the blanket between his fingers. “You will not have me. Qui-Gon Jinn has been dead thirteen years and I am too old to be deceived by false visions.”

“Obi-Wan, Padawan.”

His heart broke. He did not know he had anything left to break. He would not look again. He sought the Light, another thing that had left him. 

Would it come back? Would Anakin come back? 

He turned away from the corner where the vision had been, and waded back into murky sleep. 

———-

_Obi-Wan, you don’t need to be afraid of me. It is me. I’m here. I know you have been treated terribly. I know. Please talk to me. I can help you, Padawan. You just have to let me in. The Force is with you, always._

_As I am._

———

He choked on his gasp and leaned over the cot, sputtering and gulping for air. The whispers had been so clear. 

But they were lies. Anakin had teased him years before, said that he could hear Qui-Gon, even claimed that Qui-Gon was trying to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. Except that he had always listened to Qui-Gon. 

That’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

No no, that was Sidious too, he didn’t think that way, even if had thought that way after Naboo he learned not to think like that anymore. 

He. Did. Not. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, like everything else, too late. 

——


End file.
